


Go and Bounce the Moon

by Decepticonsensual



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 19:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4533882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Decepticonsensual/pseuds/Decepticonsensual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sparkplug and Optimus have a relaxing evening together, and find they have more in common than they might have imagined.  Beer, war stories, and a little xenophilic flirtation on a summer's night.  As I said about this one on Tumblr, "I felt in need of happy dads and Frank Sinatra."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go and Bounce the Moon

The rains that afternoon had finally broken the long, wretched spell of heat, and as Sparkplug stepped onto the lot that evening, he felt more awake than he had in a week.  Humming, he set his toolbox down on the bench and opened the garage door.  It had been a gruelling few days, with a flood of emergency repairs (mostly breakdowns brought on by the heat) and Sparkplug having to drag himself through the motions, his head swimming from sun and exhaustion, his clothes drenched within five minutes of putting them on each morning.  But now - freshly showered, with a cool breeze prickling at the still-damp hair at the back of his neck - he felt human again.

Opening the toolbox, he extracted the largest wrench and began to give it a good clean, carefully flicking the cloth into and around the threads of the screw.

“You make me feel so young…”

The hum turned into singing; Sparkplug’s warm baritone rang out in the yard.

“You make me feel like spring has sprung,

And every tiiiiiiime I see you grin,

I’m such a happy in-di-vi-dual…”

He returned the wrench and selected another.  There was something soothing about the repetitive strokes of the cloth, and about seeing the chrome slowly come to a mirror shine.

And he liked the sound of his own voice bouncing cheerily back at him from the walls of the yard.  Sparkplug didn’t make a habit of singing at work - he usually reserved it for when he was doing the dishes - but all the other shops on the block had already shuttered their doors, as the sun was starting to dip low.  No one here to feel embarrassed in front of, apart from a lot full of half-repaired cars…

“And even when I’m old and grey,

I’ll still feel the way I doooooo today,

Cause you!  You make me feel!  So younggggg!”

Sparkplug held the last note, then practically choked on it as a movement in the shadows caught his eye.  One of the cars in the yard was off its brakes, and rolling forward slowly…

No, not a car - a truck.

“You have a wonderful voice, my friend.”

“Optimus?”  Sparkplug squinted, just able to make out the distinctive red-and-blue paint.  “Jesus.  Warn a guy next time, you almost gave me a…”  He grinned.  “A  _spark_ attack.”

“Forgive me.  I did not mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay.  What can I do you for?”

“I only came to visit you.  I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Nah, of course not.”  Sparkplug gestured to the ground next to him.  “Pull up a pew.”

“A number of the younger Autobots are away on a training exercise with Ironhide,” Optimus said, as he rolled into the spot beside Sparkplug.  “Things have been relatively quiet, and I am not on duty until tomorrow.  And I -”

“Wanted to take advantage of a night without the kids around?”  Sparkplug smiled up at him.

“They’re good soldiers.  But it can be a relief, knowing that they’re in trusted hands for the night - hands other than mine.”

“You don’t have to tell me, buddy.  Spike’s a great kid, but he’s sleeping over at a friend’s house tonight, and I didn’t even realise how badly I needed a night on my own.”  Noticing the slightly hesitant twist of Optimus’s front wheels in the dust, as if he intended to withdraw, Sparkplug added hastily, “I mean, without the responsibility!  I don’t mean I don’t want company.  Actually, a quiet beer with a friend sounds just about perfect right now.  I think I’ve still got some of the emergency stock of energon in the back, for when you guys come in injured - you want a cube?”

“No, thank you.  But I should be glad of your company, as well.”

Sparkplug went and dug a beer out of the mini-fridge under the workshop counter, deftly flipping the cap off with a screwdriver.  He took a long pull as he settled back down on the bench, his legs kicked out, feet crossed at the ankle, toes almost brushing Optimus’s treads.

“That was an interesting song you were singing just now.”

“That?  Yeah.  Frankie Blue Eyes.  My old lady - Spike’s mother - she and I used to go dancing all the time, back in the day.  Not so much once Spike was born, but we still managed to sneak out every now and then.  That song always reminds me of her.”

Optimus’s tire gave his shoe the gentlest of nudges.  “I am sorry.  To lose a conjunx endura is one of the hardest things.”

“Thanks.”  Sparkplug leaned down a little to pat Optimus’s bumper.  “I mean that.  Thank you.”

He drank in silence for a while, accompanied only by the warm hum of Optimus’s engine.

“Humans make me feel young.”

Sparkplug started at the sound of his companion’s voice after such a long pause.

“I was very young, by our standards, when I joined the war,” Optimus continued thoughtfully.  “But I… I have not  _felt_ young, not since the day I took up the Matrix of Leadership.”

_That_ rang a bell.  A big-eyed, scrawny kid, with uniform boots too big for him, flat on his back underneath a Jeep on a Korean jungle track, desperately trying to fix the transmission before the enemy found them… Sparkplug had been young, too, not much older than Spike was now.  But he couldn’t remember feeling young, not since the first day of Basic.

He nodded, and took a sip as he waited for Optimus to go on.

“And yet… when I spend time with you humans, so full of life and energy, I feel…”  Optimus’s engine revved in amusement.  “I feel as though there is a wonderful fling to be flung.  I… feel that I am more than a soldier.  And that has not been true for a long time.”

“Maybe it was always true, but the war took up so much of you that you forgot.”  Sparkplug set his beer down, and went back to cleaning his tools, one by one.  After a moment, he glanced up and eyed Optimus speculatively.  “Since you’re here… and since I can’t exactly offer you a beer to relax… how about a good, thorough hand wash instead?  I bet that would help you wind down.”

To his amazement, Optimus suddenly pulled in on himself, chassis slung low and wheels tightly furled.  He was practically vibrating with tension, and heat was pouring off him in waves, almost like -

Huh.

Well.  Huh.

Sparkplug thought for a long moment, and then shrugged and reached out to stroke his fingertips down Optimus’s grill.

“I - I do not think this is a good idea, Sparkplug -”  Optimus’s voice could never be considered “squeaky”, but it was definitely higher and more staticky than usual.

“Want me to stop?”

“I - no - but you should.  I cannot countenance taking advantage of your innocent offer.”

Sparkplug’s hand had stilled, but it still lingered on the front of Optimus’s cab.  “What if it’s not an innocent offer?”

Optimus’s engine stalled for long enough that Sparkplug began to worry, then turned over so eagerly that the mechanic couldn’t help but grin.

“Come on,” he purred, letting his fingers thread through Optimus’s grill.  “A long wash with lots of hot, soapy water… I’m real good at getting _allll_ those little crevices and sweet spots…”

Optimus’s engine let out a noise that could only be fairly described as “a whine”.

“… yes.  Please.”

“Great.”  Sparkplug patted the warm metal once more.  “You make yourself comfortable.  I’ll get the sponge.”


End file.
